Sacrilege
by Leoparddapple
Summary: In which Marik Ishtar and Yami Bakura both learn that love doesn't happen on purpose.
1. Chapter 1

Sacrilege (n.)- the misuse or desecration of anything regarded as sacred or as worthy of extreme respect

The terms of their partnership weren't strict, per se, but it wasn't bad to assume any ties the two made with each other would be cut-off as soon as the goals of one or both of them were met. Nevertheless, accidents were bound to happen; certainly both of them ought to have known after getting this far...

It was only supposed to be a brief affair. Was affair even the word you would use for this sort of thing? Marik didn't know for sure. He was certain it had something to do with the minimal amount of people he spoke to throughout his life.

In any case, he knew at first he didn't mind the briefness of his partnership with the Spirit of the Millennium Ring-no, he had a name...it was Yami Bakura-and he knew there was a chance they wouldn't succeed at reaching either of their goals. That was a bit of a given considering how spontaneous his partner tended to be. He had to do most if not all of the planning, but he appreciated the other's enthusiasm, even if it made a mess.

But within the next few days, and with each conversation they had with each other, an abrupt realization struck Marik in the face one day, and as small as it was it changed the entirety of the way he saw this mission. He didn't want to part ways with Bakura when this was over.

The biggest problem was figuring out what to do with these new feelings. He had never felt this way about anyone before, and frankly, it scared him a little.

"Just tell him how you feel, I'm certain he'll understand," Rishid had told him. He was the only one who knew about this at first.

"But what if he doesn't understand?" Marik asked.

"If you can't tell him, then show him." Rishid stood up. "Master Marik, you mustn't let this overwhelm you. The sooner you can get your feelings out, regardless of the outcome, the better you'll feel."

Marik took those words to heart. As soon as he at least got those words out of his head he would feel better, the weight would be gone. He'd bring it up in his next meet-up with Bakura.

The next day came. It was cloudy and dim for a summer morning, and Marik wasn't used to the humidity. He snuck off to an alleyway, much like the one he drove through when he first came here about a week before. Bakura was already there; arms crossed over his chest and leaning back against the wall. With the way his eyes were closed and his head tilted slightly skyward, he seemed to be napping.

The illusion broke when his eyes flashed open and he turned his head slowly toward the other. "You're late," he growled.

"When did you start keeping track of the time?" Marik asked, unable to stop himself from grinning.

"Usually you're the one who has to wait for me to show up, not the other way around. I don't like it this way." Bakura eyed his companion as if looking for something out of the ordinary. Finally, he spoke up again, "You look different this morning."

Marik flushed a little. "I do?"

"Yes. You look like you're itching to tell me something."

He was...but now he didn't know if this was the right time to tell him. His chest felt hot like a fire was kindling in there. "Actually...there is something I'd like to talk to you about before we get on with it."

Bakura raised an eyebrow, adjusting his pose a little but keeping his arms firmly crossed. "Go on."

Panic rose in his throat in place of actual words. Time seemed to crawl in the few seconds before his response, and a small part of his brain was screaming at him to bail out before things got ugly. However, a larger part of his brain urged him onward.

"I've been thinking about...our previous arrangements," he began, "where you said we'd part ways as unlikely friends. I...don't think that'll be happening."

There was a scoff. Bakura had unfolded his arms and had placed his hands on his hips. "What do you mean by that? I thought it was made quite clear you couldn't help me find the remaining Items unless I helped you in turn, and so far that isn't working for either of us."

That's right; things weren't working out too well on their end.

Marik was running out of things to say, and he was certain that even the plainest way of saying how he felt would fall upon deaf ears.

"I don't care," he murmured, "I enjoy working with you even if everything's been going south lately. And I'm sure you've been enjoying it, too." He gave a forced laugh. "I mean, when was the last time you met somebody who didn't actually freak out in your presence?"

Bakura said nothing, standing still as a statue with a blank expression on his face.

Marik decided to continue, feeling a little braver with every word he said. "It's true this was only supposed to last until we achieved one or both of our goals, or by the looks of things when the Spirit of the Puzzle screws us both over. But as I've been spending more time talking to you, I've felt something I haven't felt before. It's something I want to be able to enjoy for a long time, and I'm scared it's going to go away when we finish our affairs here. Don't you know what it's like to be that scared? So scared you can't imagine your life going on beyond that moment where everything falls apart?!"

No response. Not even the bat of an eyelash. Even an argument against what he was saying would have been better than this!

Marik clenched his hands into fists, genuinely considering turning around and walking away, but he remembered Rishid's advice.

 _If you can't tell him, then show him._

He looked back up. Bakura was still standing close to the wall, and he still wasn't saying anything. Here goes everything...

He moved so fast he could barely process what he was doing, but within the next moment he had firmly pinned Bakura against the wall and was kissing him hard. Marik hadn't kissed anyone before, and the panic that had been building up inside of him up to this point was making him desperate. He just continued kissing, only parting briefly and a hair's length away from Bakura's mouth for one moment to catch his breath. Something still didn't feel quite right, though.

Suddenly he was knocked away with a snap ringing in his ears and his right cheek stinging as though it were on fire. He stumbled to the side and fell onto his rear, glancing up to see Bakura taking a defensive posture with his left arm out.

"It'd do you a great deal of good to slow down when you talk," he growled, wiping his mouth in a way that would suggest he had just ingested poison, "and you could at least give me a damn minute to process this gibberish you're spewing rather than pin me to the wall. Need I remind you that this isn't my corporeal body?"

Marik's lip curled. "That didn't stop you from nearly slicing off your whole arm. Why should that stop what I was doing? Compared to that this was completely harmless!"

Bakura stepped over Marik. Even the clouds seemed to get a bit darker and he could've sworn he felt a raindrop or two fall on him.

"You're damn lucky I don't have a weapon on me at the moment," Bakura snarled, "because I wouldn't have hesitated to slice open your throat instead of striking you across the face. If you would like our partnership to continue-and I'm quite certain you do given your soliloquy from a moment ago-I would strongly advise _against_ doing that again. Are we clear?"

Marik couldn't say a word; his head was fogged and no logical sounds could form. He only nodded obediently.

Bakura smirked, and his teeth seemed to flash in the dim light. "Good. I was beginning to worry you had lost all of your common sense. Now, before we actually get to our original plans, I'd like to take a moment to recollect my dignity."

And with that, he walked out of the alleyway, leaving Marik alone with the static in his brain just as the heavens opened and rain poured upon them both.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Bakura exhaled deeply as the rain pelted him, taking in the petrichor scent in the hopes this stimulus alone could purge the events from a few minutes ago from his mind. His forearms were still tingling after his elbows were rammed into the wall when Marik shoved him. His host's voice rang out in urgency, piercing through the sound of pouring rain.

 _ **What was that for?**_

What was what for? He thought it was quite explanatory.

 _ **You didn't have to leave him alone back there!**_

 **I would've appreciated if he let us process what he was trying to tell me rather than force himself onto me.** It was this sort of back and forth banter between host and spirit that was most of the reason Bakura did not respond to Marik's outburst before.

 _ **Could you at least give a better reason than that? I know you were lying about not having a weapon on you, too.**_

Bakura grumbled and touched his front pocket of the trousers he was wearing, touching the bulge made from a Swiss-army knife being carried inside; a gift from Marik ironically enough.

 **I just need to process what the hell is going on, host. That was most uncharacteristic of him.**

A soft sigh echoed in Bakura's mind; he could almost see his host shaking his head and putting a hand to his temple in annoyance. _**It's obvious to me that he's taken a liking to you. Why else would he say what he did?**_

 **A liking for me?** This was ridiculous. Marik should've known what he was getting into, so why did he bother making an attachment, and in such a small amount of time?

 _ **Yes,**_ Ryou went on, _**he's afraid of losing touch with you because you mean so much to him. You're probably the very first person he's ever felt this way about.**_

 **A poor choice on his part.**

 _ **Perhaps, but don't you think you should at least give him a chance?**_ Why were they still even discussing this? Ryou should be well-aware they were busy planning the despise of his friends. Was this a ruse to distract them?

 **I don't have time for matters like this, host. You should learn to mind your own business.**

Ryou was not easy to let up. _**Well, what was that remark about how you don't own the body you're inhabiting? The one Marik pressed against the wall and kissed? At that rate, I should have as much say in this as you.**_

Bakura scoffed. **And how do I know you're just not trying to distract us from reaching our goals, from assassinating Yugi and accessing the power of all seven Items.**

He could almost hear the smirk in his host's reply. _**I don't need to do that when you two have been slipping up plenty before this morning's fiasco.**_

Bakura felt in that moment Ryou should consider himself lucky that it was impossible for the two of them to inhabit the same physical space at once, for he might have just received a similar response to Marik's behavior earlier. For now, he would just have to settle with more scolding. **Hilarious. Accusations aside, you're basically telling me to give him a chance and let chance take control?**

 _ **That's right. I think we both know what I'd be doing to keep you from my friends, and it'd be far worse for both of us than asking you to let someone display their affection for you.**_

This was true. Bakura almost shuddered at the memories of the handful of times Ryou had attempted to sacrifice himself when things got bad. He shouldn't worry so much about having his plans foiled with a simple matchmaking session, given these past experiences.

 **Fine,** he finally said, **I'll let him try it, but there is no promise I'll ever reciprocate his feelings.**

Ryou gave a final reply before Bakura could sense him drifting into unconsciousness. _**That's the thing about falling in love, spirit. It doesn't happen on purpose.**_

By the time Bakura returned to the alleyway, it was still raining and a few puddles had formed. Marik was standing upright, his clothes and hair soaked. He turned at the sound of the splashes from the other's footsteps.

"So," he said flatly, "are you done recollecting your dignity?" Bakura could see that his whites of his eyes were slightly red from being strained by something, and his face appeared to be a bit wet. Something told Bakura it wasn't rainwater, and there was also a slightly uncharacteristic nasal sound to his voice when he spoke.

"Yes. If you'd like we can get back to our original plan for the day rather than sulking around."

Marik shivered. "I'd prefer to move somewhere warmer, where we're less likely to contract a debilitating illness from the weather."

"As you wish," Bakura replied, feeling a small chill as well though paying it little mind. "It may interest you to know that my host has given us permission to use his flat as a refuge from the storm, provided of course that we don't make a mess."

It wasn't entirely true, but he felt Ryou wouldn't mind as long as they kept things looking fairly normal and didn't make too much noise.

"Oh, really?" Marik raised a brow in semi-interest. He was the only one of the two to show his base of operations, but he didn't seem as enthused by the idea as he was saying he might be; even his voice seemed unusually flat. Bakura considered asking what was wrong, but he felt what he had already done earlier would just make things hurt more.

"Come along," Bakura continued, motioning the other forward with his hand, "we don't want to sit out in the cold for too long, do we?"

Marik said nothing and simply followed Bakura. They wound through the alleyways and the streets in silence; Bakura mostly trying to pry Ryou for directions to the flat and Marik following without a word to say. It was uncharacteristic of him to be so quiet...

When they finally arrived at the flat, the rain had settled a bit but both boys were soaked from the downpour. They went inside quickly, Marik actually throwing off his shirt and wringing it out in the kitchen sink.

"I don't know if I'm ever going to get used to how humid it is here," he said, flattening his shirt and smoothing out the wrinkles.

"You might not if you're still not planning on staying for very long," Bakura told him.

Marik glanced up at him, his eyes narrowed a bit in annoyance.

"I may as well make plans to leave soon what with the way things have been going. Can I borrow a hanger?"

Bakura took a moment to look through the flat for a spare clothes hanger, handing one to Marik once he found one.

"It's small, but it's pretty tidy here." Marik was looking around a bit more, taking in what little the small flat had to offer compared to his own hideout.

"I really don't spend that much time here," Bakura explained, "I let my host go about his daily routines here undisturbed unless it's urgent. He doesn't like it when I mess with his things."

Marik gave a hollow laugh. "I've noticed there are a lot of things you two don't see eye-to-eye on." He hung up his shirt on a doorknob for the time being, standing topless in the middle of the flat. The window had been left open and he made his way toward it. "The view is nice from here."

Bakura shrugged. "I suppose so." From here he could see the marks carved into Marik's back, his token for vengeance. While there was certainly something familiar about the hieroglyphs, Bakura could not decipher them. He wondered if this had to do with Ryou's own lack of knowledge on the subject or perhaps something he was at fault for.

"I'm going to make something hot to drink," Marik said, pulling Bakura out of his wandering thoughts, "and then we'll get to the subject we've been trying to get to." He rummaged through the kitchen to put something together.

"You know how to cook?"

"Of course I do." He didn't turn around, but the annoyance in his voice was there, and seemingly heavier than usual; his patience was wearing thin. Bakura half expected him to offer lessons of culinary variety, but the conversation was cut short again. He was starting to feel strange with the silence Marik was forcing, almost uncomfortable.

He sat down at the table and waited for Marik to finish in the kitchen, drumming his fingers in time with the rain outside. A few minutes later, a mug full of hot red liquid was placed in front of him. Marik sat at the other side of the table, already taking a drink.

Bakura stared at the drink for a moment. The crimson color appealed to him greatly; he seemed to be drawn to warmer colors. He slowly raised the mug and took an experimental sip. The drink was slightly bitter, but not unpleasantly so. It was still enough that he pulled away for a moment in surprise.

"Hibiscus," Marik said.

"What?"

"The tea. It's hibiscus. I was surprised to find some in the cupboard; it's a bit of a staple back home." Marik had another drink before giving a sigh of content and setting the mug down. Bakura had a few more sips as well, starting to enjoy the taste after a moment.

"Now, do you think we're ready to discuss things?" Bakura asked with a small smirk.

Marik settled a bit in his seat and gave a half-hearted smile. Still out of character, but it was the only queue he needed to give.


	3. Chapter 3

After finishing their discussion, the rain finally stopped. The clouds still hung in the sky and made no indication of letting the sun peak through. Marik took the cups to the sink and rinsed them out. He was pleased to see Bakura drank all the tea given to him.

"Do you still want to hang around here," he started, "or would you like to retreat back outside while it's no longer raining?"

He turned from the sink to find Bakura had moved to the small sofa. He had removed his shirt as well and was running his hand through his hair. When Marik took a seat next to him, he stopped and looked up; his gaze sending a small chill down Marik's back.

"What's gotten into you?"

Marik titled his head to the side, not confused so much as offended by Bakura's remark. "Excuse me?"

Bakura said nothing, and Marik felt something rise in his chest again. "Are we just going to pretend what happened an hour ago never happened? Are you really that stupid?"

"Stupid?" Bakura stood up from the couch, his voice trembling with an identical rage.

Marik stood up too, even stepping forward to his partner. "Do you really believe I'm going to just let go of what you did to me back there? Because I'm _not_! You probably have no idea what it feels like to have your feelings hurt, but it's one of the worst feelings in the world! Naturally I'm gonna be at least a little pissed off!"

Bakura crossed his arms over his bare chest. It looked like he was about to make a comeback regarding the statement, but his mouth simply hung open in a dumbfounded expression. Marik couldn't help but scoff.

"I knew it. You don't know what it feels like. And don't you even _dare_ asking your host for tips on it, either. You may share a body, but you two are nothing alike. I've talked with him enough to know." He began to feel a sharp pain in his forehead.

 _Oh no..._

He stormed outside of the flat, though being careful not to slam the door behind him, and stood on the small porch area. He wrestled some with his thoughts.

 **Do you need me to take care of him for you? He made you so upset...**

 _No! No, it's fine! If you take care of it you're just going to make a mess and get me in even more trouble!_

 **Still, you'd think he'd know better than to bring that back up again so soon after breaking your heart.**

 _Just stay out of this! I have this under control!_ Even just the thoughts of those words held a trembling note of panic in them.

 **I won't hold back next time...**

At those words, the pain finally subsided. Marik let out a sigh of relief, but he didn't make an attempt to come back inside the flat. The door was probably locked anyway. Instead of trying to go back inside, he slumped down onto his rear and stared at the street below. The smell of rain seemed to be helping clear his head.

Bakura stepped outside about fifteen minutes later, carving an apple with his Swiss-army knife. It was done in a way that suggested he once knew how to carve with a blade, but had nearly forgotten from not doing it in a long time.

"You left your shirt in the flat," he said bluntly.

Marik nodded. "I'll be sure to grab it before we take off again."

Bakura stepped forward, slicing into the flesh of the apple and producing a wedge from it. He showed the apple to Marik, the newly-sliced wedge facing him. Not all of the skin had been properly cut from it, and it had a few dents, but he was hungry. After an awkward moment of silence, Marik took the piece and started to eat it. The fruit was sweet and crisp.

"Consider this a...peace offering," suggested Bakura, "I won't bring up what happened this morning again, if you don't tell anyone about this exchange we're experiencing now."

Marik laughed. "I don't think I ever expected you to use the word 'peace' in such a positive connotation."

They continued to share the apple among themselves, enjoying the taste of it and the still-lingering smell of rain. Marik's head felt clearer now, as though all of his agitation had been washed out by the rain. Eventually the apple had been eaten and the only remnants of it were the scraps of peeled apple skin on the concrete.

Bakura opened the door. "I don't recommend standing out here for too long without your shirt. You'll poke someone's eye out."

Marik stared at him, a little confused, but he pushed himself onto his feet and walked inside. A chill went up his back a second time as he was greeted by the warmer air in the flat. He turned around when he heard the door close.

"I think I should also tell you I was lying earlier." Bakura was still holding the Swiss army knife.

"About what?" Marik looked at him and then down at the knife.

"When you made an advancement on me and I said I would've slit your throat if I was armed. This was in my pocket the entire time."

Marik couldn't help but smile. "So you decided not to kill me despite having the perfect opportunity to do so."

"I still haven't decided whether or not I regret sparing you. Just don't test my patience." Bakura clicked the knife back into the sheath, in a swift motion that put a small bit of emphasis on the threat of his statement.

Marik gave a nod in response, though he felt his heart lift a little. Perhaps showing him how he felt was the right thing to do after all.

When it began to get dark, Marik decided he should group back up with Rishid and the others. He gave a brief farewell to Bakura and had left with his shirt.

Bakura sat by himself in the kitchen of his host's flat, deciding now was a good time as any to let his host have control for the remainder of the evening. He closed his eyes and slowly exhaled, feeling his grip on the vessel of his host drift out of reach. It was an oddly relaxing feeling to let go of the contact of the world and slip back into the recesses of darkness.

 _ **What did I tell you? That wasn't as bad as you made it sound after all, was it?**_

Bakura groaned back to say he wanted to be left alone, but he knew Ryou was right.

 **I suppose it wasn't. But do I really have to sit back and see what happens?**

He could only hear was Ryou was saying to him, since the inky blackness of his own mind permeated the closest thing he could call vision at this state, but he could almost imagine the boy crossing his arms and shaking his head.

 _ **Impatient as ever, Spirit.**_

There was no further reply, as Ryou was busy partaking in his nightly routine, which as far was Bakura could tell was preparing and eating a small meal, cleaning up, and then grooming and caretaking before going to bed. Bakura let himself float in the emptiness of his small world, only briefly pondering on the various outcomes of his relationship with Marik.


End file.
